


Soiled

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [9]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenny, Vastra, and co. have finally located their missing friend. But Nellie's reappearance carries with it a slew of fresh questions and dangers. Can our heroines clean up this mire of injustice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soiled

**Author's Note:**

> See the end notes for some spoilery potential triggers.
> 
> Also, the upcoming week is going to be crazy busy for me, with lots of traveling and things to do, to the point that I don't know when the next chance I'll have to sit down and post will be. So on the bright side, you all get an early update. On the downside, no post this coming Saturday. Normal posting will resume on May 31 unless life intervenes.

“We finally found her,” Henry echoes. 

The news staggers Vastra. “I cannot help but notice that she is not here,” she points out as they step inside.

“Well, no,” Anaya admits. “It's a bit of a long story.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Where have you two been? You look awfully dressed up, and you keep smiling.”

“We were at the theatre!” Vastra exclaims happily. “Where I proposed marriage to Jenny, and she accepted! And before that we were in Paris!” Her voice and face reveal that her mind is standing at the altar, not on the porch.

Anaya is flabbergasted; Henry is enraged. How dare they go on vacation when one of their friends is missing? “To be fair,” Jenny adds, “there were vampires in Paris and Cybermen at the theatre. Not all larks.”

“Oh,” Henry says, and sits down. “Congratulations, then.” 

“How, exactly, were you planning on marrying?” Anaya asks. “Not that I'm not happy for you, but...” Anaya realizes she hadn't even considered the possibility of marrying a woman. Would she want to marry Mirabelle if she could? Raise a family together, buy a house? She wasn't sure about all that. Still, it wouldn't do living in Jenny and Vastra's spare room all her life...but she could figure that out later.

Jenny grins. “I'm certain we'll figure something out, most likely with the Doctor's help.”

“Indeed,” Vastra agrees. “Now, what of young Nellie?”

“It's a long story,” Anaya says, then hesitates.

“Begin, then, at the beginning,” Vastra tells them.

“Blind luck, really,” Henry admits, scratching at his scars.

***

“We've been over the whole of London,” Henry says, maddened by their failure. “From the sewers to the cathedrals. And no-one has seen hide or hair of her.”

“And yet no-one has seen her leave, and no-one in the neighboring countryside has seen her either,” Anaya continues. “Look, I like Nellie loads, and she's terrific fun. But sometimes people vanish—don't we know that more than anyone?”

“What're you saying?” Henry asks, a cold look on his face and his arms crossed. Angry tears form in his eyes.

“I don't know, abducted by aliens? Stolen by fairies? Disintegrated by robots? There are a hundred different things that could have happened to her, and we'd never see her again. We've been over Scotland Yard's unsolved crime files for Jenny and Vastra a dozen times apiece, Henry, looking for patterns and this and that. I can probably rattle them off by now. Maud Adams, 39, disappeared last January. James Bates, 23, walked out of a pub six weeks ago, never heard from again.”

“So what, we stop looking for her?”

“God, no, we never stop looking, never stop hoping.” She holds up Nellie's photograph, waving it at a shabbily-dressed young woman for effect. “But I can't just walk up to every man, woman, and child in the British Isles and ask them, 'excuse me, have you seen this girl?'” 

“Actually,” the young woman says, “I think I have.” She blushes. “Are you Henry and Anaya?”

***

“That was when you fainted,” Henry says with a grin.

“You git! You promised you wouldn't tell them that bit! And you didn't catch me.”

“I was nearly catatonic myself,” Henry admits.

“Do go on,” Jenny encourages them as she wipes up the tea that she and Vastra spilled.

***

“Nellie sent me,” the young woman, Carrie, explains once they have revived Anaya and adjourned to a bakery where Henry buys them scones. “Didn't give me much to go on; she just said she had these friends, Jenny and Vastra and Strax and Nellie and Henry and Dr. Doyle, and described you all to me, and said they'd be looking for her.” 

“I don't want to sound rude,” Anaya says, “but where is Nellie.”

“They've got her in the Magdalene laundry,” Carrie informs them.

***

“What is that?” Vastra asks.

“A Magdalene laundry is run by members of a religious order—often Catholic nuns, but not exclusively. They put young, poor women to work washing clothes, house them and feed them, even. Usually women who are young mothers or prostitutes, but not always.” Anaya explains.

“Why, that doesn't sound too bad,” Vastra says, sighing in relief. “I had thought Nellie was in danger! And here I learn that she is learning a valuable life skill, and being cared for besides. Certainly removes a burden upon her parents and her many siblings. Really an excellent piece of charity, particularly for those women with children, who may be destitute otherwise.”

Jenny coughs as Anaya goes into more detail. “They don't pay the women, and the workers can't leave.”

“Ah,” Vastra says, and closes her eyes. “This rather changes things. Why, pray tell, do they do this?”

“They say it's to reform them of their ways,” Henry explains.

“They do not wish them to procreate? How ever will your species survive?” 

“It's complicated,” Anaya says at last. “But they're generally not fond of intercourse outside of marriage.”

“Well then,” Vastra says merrily, “It's just as well that—” Jenny, realizing where this line of conversation is going, elbows Vastra sharply in the ribs. “Ahem,” Vastra says. “Continue.”

***

“Can you show us where they're keeping her?” Anaya asks.

Carrie pales and shakes her head. “Upon my soul, I'll never go anywhere near that place. But it's in Whitechapel. Big brick building. You'll find it easy enough.”

“Can you tell us anything else?” Henry pries. His heart is pounding: they are so close now. He says a quick, silent prayer of thanks as he waits. 

Carrie closes her eyes. “She's so brave, your friend. Helping us escape, one by one. Don't know where the others went, but she told them all to look out for you and your friends.”

“Why didn't she escape herself?” Anaya asks.

“Thought she could do more good helping the rest of us to get out,” Carrie begins. “And she's got her son with her.”

***

“Beg pardon?” Jenny asks, producing another cloth to mop up her and Vastra's tea again. 

“That's why they grabbed her, apparently. That bastard fellow of hers got her in the family way, and someone must have overheard her talking about it with her family, I reckon,” Henry says. 

“She must have been just starting to show when they took her,” Vastra reasons.

Anaya nods. “Carrie said that she gave birth in the laundry, and she's been raising little Neville ever since.”

Vastra sips her third cup of tea as she thinks. “I presume you know where this building is?” Henry and Anaya nod. “Then we will set off the moment we are prepared. Go find Strax, and tell him about the building. We may need to break in, and he will help you find the necessary equipment. We shall be here when you return; I must discuss this further with Jenny in private.”

Henry and Anaya dash off, eager to be getting to work again.

“I had been frivolous before,” Vastra begins, “But this does invite a certain amount of discussion about our marital status.”

“I still want to marry you,” Jenny says stubbornly, and Vastra smiles. Not as though she had expected any other answer from the lovely, indefatigable Miss Flint.

“An illegal marriage to legitimize invisible intercourse?” Vastra asks, smile growing sadder for just an instant before cracking wide again. “Hardly an acceptable choice for a respectable foreign widow and famed detective.”

“I'm a natural seductress,” Jenny replies with a sly wink. “Or maybe you've corrupted me. Either way I can't see trying to fit into someone else's morals. Not if their idea of morals involves locking you up to do hard work for no pay.”

“A very cogent point,” Vastra acknowledges as the others return. “Now, let us be off.”

***

Vastra walks up to the Magdalene laundry, unfazed by its sheer, brick heights. “Good evening,” she says to the middle-aged nun who opens the door.

“I'm sorry, we're closed,” the nun replies, matching Vastra, courtesy for courtesy. “Even those who do the Lord's work must rest from time to time.”

“Strange,” Vastra says, “I thought I heard the laundries operating as I approached. I had hoped to hire some of your workers for my own enterprise,” she bluffs carefully, keeping a careful eye on how her opponent reacts to the seemingly innocent query, wishing she could take a closer look inside the building as well. 

“Surely a gentle lady like yourself would have no need of such unreformed souls as these,” the nun counters, still polite. Just a touch of an edge to her voice, Vastra thinks, praying they haven't tipped their hand.

“I'm not so proud as to hold myself above them,” Vastra replies, equally proper and modest. Indeed, she makes a careful bow, taking her eyes out of sight and just inside. Nothing of note, not that she'd expected to gain anything else by the subterfuge.

“I don't like to insist, but we don't loan out any of our girls,” the nun says at last. “Good evening.” She closes the door with more muscle than Vastra might have guessed. Vastra blinks at the impact and then grins. A worthy adversary indeed, she muses, and strolls casually away.

***

“No joy, madame?” Jenny asks as Vastra rejoins them. 

“None,” Vastra says, shaking her head. “I had not expected to succeed through the front door, though I might have wished to learn more than I did. Still, I have some measure of our foe now. Perhaps you will have more success through the back door.” She nods to Jenny, who cracks her knuckles. 

“Looking forward to it,” Jenny says with a grin.

***

“Been a while since I had to use the climbing gear,” Jenny mutters. Henry and Anaya are at either end of the alley that runs behind the laundry to prevent interference. The first two stories are completely bricked up along the back and sides. Probably helps dissuade escape and keeps people from seeing what goes on, she thinks as Strax fishes the grappling gun out of a satchel. Should be a warning to the outside world that something wrong is going on, but warnings work to keep people away, she supposes as she efficiently strips off her dress to reveal the catsuit underneath. 

With a Sontaran's eye for ballistics, Strax lands the grappling hook on the gutter perfectly, and it holds fast on his first attempt. “May you bathe in the blood of your enemies,” he says as he hands Jenny the rope. 

“Thank you, Strax,” she replies as she climbs. It's often best with Strax, she has decided, to remember that he means well, even if that doesn't excuse everything. The soft rubber of the soles of her boots provides a good grip on the brick without making a sound, and soon she reaches the fifth floor, where the dormitories are supposed to be. She nods as she jimmies open a window; through the glass she can see rows of bunks, each with a dozing young woman. It doesn't take her long to find Nellie, and Jenny shakes the younger girl awake with her left hand as she covers Nellie's mouth with her right. Nellie bites her hand—good girl, Jenny thinks—even before her eyes open and they flash with recognition. 

“Jenny?” she asks, eyes welling up with tears of relief and pain. 

“Where's Neville?” Jenny asks.

“They took him,” Nellie chokes out, and Jenny's eyes widen. “I'm not leaving unless I can find him.”

“Come on,” Jenny says, “let's see if they have records.”

Nellie nods. “Their offices are on the third floor. We'll have to sneak past the nuns' rooms,” she whispers. 

“Couple of dab hands like us?” Jenny says, keeping her face merry. “We are going to find where they've taken him, and then we're going to get you out of here, and then we're going to find him.” 

Nellie nods, and wipes her tears away. “Let's go,” she agrees, face resolute. “We shouldn't have too much trouble getting past the nuns,” she says, slowly, then gestures to some of the empty beds. “They tend to take some of the girls to bed with them, and then they are out for the night. They'll be asleep by now.”

Jenny realizes at once what Nellie is saying in between the lines. “You don't have to go down there,” Jenny whispers. “You've been so brave already, getting Carrie and the others out. You can just climb down the rope—Strax is right down there, he'll help you. None of us will think less of you. None of us.”

Nellie shakes her head. “I've got to try to find Neville, and if we can, something to shut this place down.” Jenny nods, and they creep down the stairs. We're going to bloody well put a stop to this, Jenny vows. And if I can help it, this will be the last night these girls have to live like this. Still, she dares not start a fight now, not with so many innocent people around.

Jenny pulls out her lockpicks to get them into the offices, and then to open the file cabinets. “Whatever they've got, they sure don't want us finding it...” 

“Sure got us hidden away,” Nellie notes coldly.

“We've been looking hard enough for you,” Jenny says, flipping through folders. “But...we finally found you,” she exclaims quietly, pulling one folder out. “This looks promising...oh yes.” She grins. “Let's go home.” 

“What about the rest of them?” Nellie asks as they mount the rope.

“We'll come back for them,” Jenny whispers, voice firm. “But first we've got some kids to rescue. Tonight.”

***

Nellie explains what she's told Jenny over the carriage ride. “Is there any way we can close them down?” she asks. “The working premises are in dreadful shape.”

“As are the regulations which purport to govern them,” Vastra replies. “I am afraid that while I find your tale deplorable, it may carry but little weight with the officials.” She closes her eyes regretfully. “While there are many times that I am glad that I am not in any official position, I do regret in this case that my words do not carry the force of law. While many foes may be justly handled with a sword and a strong will, some require the sanction of the crown. This, I fear, is one such foe: while society condones its presence, it shall only crop up again and again.” Vastra knows better to allow herself even the ghost of a smile as she contemplates leading a makeshift army of prostitutes and unwed mothers into battle against those who would oppress them, just as she might have headed a squad of her sisters so many millions of years ago.

“How can anyone just sit back and let this happen to us?” Nellie asks, uncommonly furious.

“The sexual assaults you describe are not specifically banned,” Vastra says simply, “in part for the simple reason that few people can imagine that such encounters are even possible, and so Parliament feels no need to act. While they are, of course, patently wrong, I have no urge to demonstrate this fact for them.” Jenny blushes furiously. Sometimes madame takes things a step too far; Jenny wonders how much this can be chalked up to her unusual experiences, and how much is her deliberately flaunting human mores. “And sadly, society does not care to look upon poor women—particularly poor women considered to be of loose morals. For either the economic or sexual abuses, when the victim is invisible or nonexistent, can there be a crime?”

“If they cannot see me, then I shall have to scream,” Nellie concludes ruthlessly. Now Vastra lets herself beam. Brave girl. The proprietresses of the laundry may live to regret their deeds.

***

“What sort of place did you say this was?” Vastra asks as they crouch in the bushes, waiting for Henry's signal.

“An orphanage and baby farm,” Jenny says, then explains further. “If you have a child which you don't want to raise, you pay a certain fee, and they raise it for you.”

“Sounds too good to be true.” Vastra remarks. “One would think that the farming is purely metaphorical and they would not need to do so much digging.” She toes at the freshly turned earth beneath their feet. 

Just then, Henry gives a wave of his white kerchief. “Come on, madame,” Jenny whispers, and her hand reaches back to touch the sword at her side like a talisman. They'll have to be careful with all of the children about, even if they are asleep.

They dash from their hidden position to the main building. “Would you want to adopt a child someday?” Vastra asks as Jenny picks the lock. Jenny curses with surprise at the question, but the lock yields to her regardless. “There seem to be so many in need of loving homes.”

“We've hardly got a typical family to raise a child in,” Jenny points out, shining ahead with a lantern.

“I did not say typical family; I said loving home,” Vastra corrects her. “Which we most certainly are.” She points out a likely candidate for an office, and the two women slip inside to a room which is larger than they might have guessed.

Jenny shrugs. “Probably enough people who would let us take a kid off their hands without batting an eye. Certainly seems like there are plenty of them here,” she observes. There are massive cabinets filled with files. They begin looking through the files for unusual items, something that might let them shut down the farm.

Meanwhile, Nellie and Strax stumble into the main dormitory. The Sontaran grumbles about his lack of advanced weaponry as he clutches his club and Nellie starts peering at the beds and cribs. There aren't terribly many children to look through, and Nellie nearly screams with delight as she spots Neville and sweeps him into her arms. Fortunately, the lad is a heavy sleeper, and they dash away to find Jenny and Vastra. 

When they arrive at the office, they find that Jenny has found Neville's file. “Everything seems in order,” she whispers.

“Can't we use it to prove that they took my baby away from me?” she asks.

Vastra shakes her head. “There appear to be forged adoption documents and affidavits saying that you gave your baby away freely, and it would be your word against the Pinders'; an impoverished teenage girl against a respectable, charitable married couple. Your chances would be poor, along with the chances of the many girls from your laundry whose children we have found here. Indeed, it appears that there was a formal arrangement between the laundry and the baby farm.” 

“You were very quick, by the way,” Jenny notes.

“There were hardly any of the disgusting broodlings to look at,” Strax beams.

“Oh dear,” Vastra says, and she sags into the desk chair. “That might explain why the fees they charge for taking on a child are so low.”

“You think they have a quick turnaround?” Nellie asks, flipping through a handful of files. “Lots sent off to this mysterious 'D,' whoever he is.”

Jenny perks up at the initial. “You don't think?..”

“The Dalek?” Vastra asks. “Perhaps, though I doubt it would need so many as to account for how few children remain here.” She sighs, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. “Nor, I think, would it explain the fresh digging I saw earlier.”

“No!” Nellie gasps, and pulls Neville closer to her bosom. “Dear Lord, no...”

“I am afraid so,” Vastra says. “I admit, when I began searching for wrongdoing, I had never imagined that I should find anything so disturbing.”

“What's going on here?” bellows an older gentleman, brandishing a shotgun with his wife behind him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pinder, I presume?” Vastra asks, calm and collected despite the sudden appearance of the gun.

“You have ten seconds to get out of my home,” Pinder begins, but as he lowers the weapon at Jenny, Vastra's tongue lashes out and rips it from his fingers. Strax secures the gun and bends the primitive Earth firearm's barrel with his hands. 

“Correction,” Vastra replies as they pull the Pinders into the room and surround them, “you have ten seconds to explain your operation here. And I warn you, we know about the dead children and your mysterious client,” she bluffs effortlessly. 

Jenny takes the phone from the desk and begins to dial. “Hello, Scotland Yard? Sorry to ring at such an awful hour. Fancy sending over a few lads?” she asks, naming their location.

“You've got no right, no evidence of any wrongdoing!” snaps Mrs. Pinder.

“True enough,” Vastra admits. “But we will once we go digging. How many dead will we find? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand?” Vastra asks rhetorically, and puts her heels up on the desk. 

“There's still time to confess,” Jenny adds softly. “I've got a dozen coppers riding down here, fast as they can, off one phone call. You tell us what we want to know, and if you're very lucky, you might not swing.” They glance over at Nellie, who coos to her son and spares the Pinders an icy stare. “You've already had one stroke of luck in that her baby is still alive,” she observes, and leaves it at that.

“You can start by telling us which of the children are alive, which are dead, and which you have given to Mr. D,” Vastra offers pointedly.

By the time Scotland Yard is on the scene, the Pinders have reluctantly explained the different notations on the files, and Henry and Anaya are sorting them into piles. Dawn is starting to break, and some of the children are already up and about. Many of them have mothers who are currently inmates at nearby laundries, but not all. “It will be a logistical nightmare to return all of the children to their parents,” Vastra observes. “Though that is a small price given what they have endured.”

“It'll be a real nightmare for the kids without families to go back to,” Jenny replies. She shakes her head. “We couldn't adopt the lot of them, even if we wanted to.”

“I have hopes that the laundries will take in many of them,” Vastra says with a smile. “I expect that many of them will see a change in management as their current owners are subjected to further investigation by the authorities; I see no reason why the workers should not become the new owners. It's not as though we properly own our home, after all.”

“They can hardly do a worse job,” Jenny kids. “And I expect the funds raked in by the Pinders and the laundries will go a long way towards getting them on their feet.”

Vastra grins. “At last, the laundries will be approximating the function that I had guessed for them. Better late than never, I suppose.”

“And we've got the ghost of a lead,” Jenny adds. “Suppose we'd best move quickly before it dries up.” Then she yawns. “Though perhaps not just yet.”

“We have had a rather busy day,” Vastra says agreeably. “And we have much to unpack as we catch our breath.” She chews her bottom lip for a moment. “Anaya, you were in charge of the stack that went to 'D;' what ages were the children?”

“Mostly older than 10.”

“Hmm,” Vastra muses. “I wonder if they weren't being used as slave labor.”

“All of them?” Anaya asks, gesturing to her large pile. 

“To build something large and complex, yes,” Vastra nods. “And, I hope, difficult to move.”

Anaya shakes her head at another pile, that of the dead. “We spend so much time fighting against the dreadful things that aliens do that I forget what humans are capable of sometimes. The sort of enemy you wish you could fight with a sword,” she concludes bitterly. 

“Come,” Vastra says at last, “Let us see how Nellie is doing.”

***

Henry is already there, sitting in the opposite corner from Nellie, who is breastfeeding Neville beneath a blanket. “How are you doing?” he asks before the others arrive. 

“Free after months of imprisonment and abuse; reunited with my friends and child after months alone. Oh, and the police are arresting everyone responsible.” She smiles. “Doing pretty well. You?”

“I'm good,” he says simply. Jenny taps on the door jamb to announce their presence, and she and Vastra and Anaya walk in.

“Are you going to stop giving me jobs?” Nellie asks, looking Vastra square in the eyes. Not the most obvious question, she knows, but it has been weighing on her since she had Neville and had her first dream of escape. Working for Jenny and Vastra was the second best thing which had ever happened to her, and she would give it up willingly for the best, but that wouldn't mean that there wouldn't be an empty space left within her.

“Why would I do that?” She flashes from confusion to concern. “Were you injured in the prison? I shall call Strax at once!”

Nellie giggles, and waves for the Silurian to sit. “No, I'm fine. I'm just... you know.” She takes Neville out from under the blanket and fixes her dress with her other hand.

“You appear fit for lighter duties, even with the lad on your hip. And surely your family would be willing to tend young Neville while you ran more daunting errands for me?” Vastra asks.

“As it happens,” Jenny adds, “we might be willing to look after the wee one from time to time. As practice, you know,” she concludes with a fierce blush.

Henry's eyes widen. “You aren't?..”

“No!” Jenny says quickly. “We aren't even married yet,” she adds with a grin. “Haven't even decided who's going to wear a dress, if anyone.”

“You're getting married?” Nellie asks. “How delightful! Congratulations!” Despite her own...stumbles in that regard, she can tell that the two women are deeply well-suited for one another, and being married will only make her friends happier.

“Thank you,” Vastra says, bowing her head. “Will you be continuing in my service, then?”

“Yes, please,” Nellie says. “I shall probably take a few weeks to help the girls at the laundry get their lives put back together, but then I should very much like to help out from time to time as before. I only wish we could close down every laundry like this.”

“That will be difficult while there remains a demand for them, and while women lack status,” Vastra notes, “even if I felt like hunting the owners down across the world. Alas, I cannot change minds at swordpoint.”

“More's the pity,” Jenny adds ruthlessly. “I can think of a few minds I'd like to change.”

“I made a promise long ago,” Vastra says, gazing out the window at the dawn, “not to become a murderous vigilante. I broke that promise once, with the Androgums, and I suppose I should thank Torchwood for cutting me off before I went any further down that path. Even if it were in my power now to kill those who imprison and abuse, I think I would draw no joy from the bloodshed.” She flashes back to her grim fancy of the army of women, an endless horde of bloodsoaked vigilantes, herself and Jenny at its head, soulless eyes flashing red, pressing ever forward. No, she thinks, that is not the way.

“We've still got that Dalek to find,” Jenny reminds her. Bloody miracle the thing hasn't decided to exterminate half of London, she thinks. She only hopes it isn't planning something worse, whatever a Dalek would think would be worse than wholesale slaughter. 

“I suppose we do. And if I could talk it into leaving peacefully, I would. But I do not expect that I shall have that option.” She pauses to imagine a peace-loving Dalek, living hand-in-suction cup with its fellow creatures, screeching hymns of joy. She smiles, amused at first, then contented. “But tonight we have rescued many and done much good;” Vastra pauses to yawn, “let us slumber with those thoughts in our minds, for tomorrow we hunt.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with themes of rape, child abuse, and teenage pregnancy. Nothing graphic is ever shown (or has ever been shown, or will ever be shown), but it does get discussed.
> 
> Magdalene laundries were common in the late 1800s and early 1900s, with as many as 300 in Britain, with more in Ireland and America. They work much as described in-story: women of 'loose morals,' including prostitutes, unwed mothers, and abuse victims were put to work for little to no pay, usually by religious organizations
> 
> Male homosexuality was illegal in Britain during the Victorian era, and in 1885, the definition of prohibited conduct was broadened even further. Female homosexuality, however, was not. There is a somewhat apocryphal tale which holds that the bill's authors did not believe that such acts were possible. Either that, or the Veiled Detective has some very powerful friends.
> 
> Baby farms were relatively common, and work much as Jenny describes them. Unwanted, often illegitimate children were given to the baby farm to raise in exchange for either a fixed sum of money or a series of payments. The parents of the children in question could be of any social class--indeed, I expect a child would be even more embarrassing to a high-class family. Many baby farmers neglected their charges, pocketing the cash instead. The Pinders are specifically based on Amelia Dyer, who murdered hundreds of infants and small children as part of her baby-farming operation, and was hanged in 1896.


End file.
